Whispers
by Sakura-chan79
Summary: [DMxHG][Collection of Oneshots] Their relationship comprised of many things: love, hurt, comfort, & envy. They’re both only human after all.
1. War

**Author's Note: **I've been reading too many Harry Potter fanfics lately. So here I am, trying my hand at one. Please bear with me okay? If this goes well, maybe I'll write more.

This particular fanfic uses a song as a base. The song is _Honoo no Tobira (Door of Flames) _from _Gundam SEED Destiny _(because I re-entered my Gundam phase).

**Summary: **-_Draco/Hermione-_ Honesty with the enemy, compassion for the enemy…I had never imagined that such things could be.

**Disclaimer: **I own do not own anything even remotely related to Harry Potter or any songs I use a motivation for my writing. If I did, my parents wouldn't be trying to force me to get a job right now.

* * *

_I will open the door of daybreak with my wounded fingers_

_Because these hands are the ones that will decide tomorrow _

* * *

What is war?

The dictionary would say that it is any open conflict carried out by armed forces between nations or parts of a nation. It is a struggle between two opposing forces with different goals in mind. Such a definition is quite true; it is the most simplistic way of defining "war".

I do not agree with the dictionary.

A simplistic definition does not mean it is an accurate definition. War is more than a campaign against an opposing force. War is bloody, full of death and decay. When people fight in war, they become killing machines, completely numb to any rational feeling. War is nothing more than a fire that spreads even without a strong wind to fan the flames. It surrounds every person and everything. It burns everything without distinction.

War is true hell. It causes naught but death and destruction. It is an inferno that cannot possibly be doused; it merely rages on, unheeding of what burns to ashes in its wake. The screams of the dying echo on the lonely battlefields, their blooding staining the ground red. War rages on always killing, ever killing. There are no rules in war; you either kill or you are killed. You do what you must in order to survive. That is not the way anyone should have live, nor the way anyone should have to die.

The door opens and he passes through it. This room is small and lightly furnished, but I do not notice it. It is a prison to me. Nevertheless, my senses have not deteriorated; I can hear his soft footfalls coming across the carpet towards me. He kneels beside me and lifts a gentle hand to my face. I no longer flinch at his touch.

"In the window seat again are you, my sweet?" he asks softly. He slowly drags his long, delicate finger across my cheek. "Tears again?" He pops his finger into his mouth, licking the salty droplet off. "No need to cry. You are safe here with me."

I want to ask "How safe?" but I cannot bring myself to voice the words. Tears keep falling silently down my cheeks. The landscape outside is quiescent for now, but surely the flames of war will reach here too, one day. Another point: even if _I _am safe here, who is to say that my friends remain safe? Who is to say that they will survive? This man cannot guarantee it and nor would he ever. He guarantees my safety only.

I am his prisoner and yet here he is, stroking my hand softly, telling me not to cry. He steals my tears away as if hoping that will make me trust in love once more. It was love that brought me to this place and dragged me down into this pathetic state. "Look," he whispers, "Look at that pretty star."

Obediently, I raise my eyes to look where he indicates. The star is like any other. Stars used to be hopeful to me. They used to give me strength to move on, to keep walking down the path that I chose. I remember when I was a child I used to love staring at the stars, tracing the constellations in the air with my finger. I used to hope I would see a shooting star…but I never did.

* * *

_I'm taking off on a search for the seeds of hope,_

_Towards the vanished horizon _

* * *

"Make a wish, why don't you?" the man whispers to me softly. It is strange…I had never once considered this man to be "soft" in any way. His angular face was always pulled into a sneer and his voice dripped with pride. This man's eyes always seemed cold to me. I turn my empty gaze to him, taking in his appearance for the first time since I was brought here, broken and bleeding. His eyes shine brightly, and I think of hope.

"I will not make a wish," I say in a monotone voice. I surprise even myself; I had not realized how wooden my voice had become. Yet he smiles slightly, and I can't imagine why. "This is a passing calm. This tranquility will not last."

"Is that why you stare out this window endlessly?" he asks sleekly, "Are you acting as a sentinel in the night that sees all but can do nothing? Surely you have a wish you want to make."

Against my will, I nod slowly. His piercing gaze, so like the stars that used to represent hope to me, does not leave my face. He waits patiently for my response and I feel as though a weave of Compulsion has been laid on me. "I wish to return to my home someday, even if only for a short while."

He nods slowly, his thin lips smiling an almost reminiscent smile. "They're fine," he informs me idly. "No blood has smeared their windows and no flames of war have reached them. Ease your worries."

I hadn't even asked about them and yet he _knew. _How did he know that I was worried about my family? How did he know that I feared for their safety? He doesn't know the first thing about me and yet he _knew _that. I thought that nothing could surprise me any more yet it appears that I was wrong.

He lays his head on my lap. "Do you hate me?"

* * *

_That's a distant promise_

_That familiar voice,_

_Please let it calm my trembling chest_

_My dear…_

* * *

My hand moves of its own accord through his hair. It is not rough and stringy as though it had been dyed too often but silky and smooth. His hair is soft just as he is soft. I turn my sweeping gaze back out the window. The landscape hasn't changed; the night has not begun to fade. But that star suddenly seems to glow much brighter than it did just a few moments ago. It reminds me of the hope I saw in his gray eyes.

"Do you hate me?" he asks again. His voice sounds broken, as though he is lost. "Do you hate me for helping to fan the flames of war? Do you hate me for snatching you from your bright world and dragging your through the door of flames into my dark hell?"

I suddenly notice that my skirt is beginning to get damp. My hand pauses in his hair. He does not shake and he does not sniffle. Nevertheless, he is crying hot tears. I should hate him, I really should. He took away my tomorrow; he took away my world. Oh, how my blood should boil at the sight of him, how I should hiss at the faintest touch. I cannot make myself react like that though. Poor, lost child…

"I do not hate you."

He is surprised by my response, I think, but his tears stop. "A Malfoy never cries," he mutters to himself. He sits up slowly, and gazes straight back into my eyes. "Why don't you hate me? You have every reason to hate me."

"That is true," I reply quietly, "But I do not hate you. Do you hate me?"

He is silent for a long moment. "No."

War causes pain. The flames draw ever nearer and yet here I sit in my window, gazing at my one enemy with some close to love yet not quite that. I have a simple question and just by looking into my eyes, he knows what it is. He sighs and answers me all the same. "I want to know love once more," he admits quietly, "Love from the heart."

He rises and leaves me alone then, closing the door of my room quietly. The sun is beginning to rise although that one star still glows brightly in the sky. For the first time in a very long time, I smile. I don't believe it is a happy smile but perhaps it is a contented smile. Honesty with the enemy, compassion for the enemy…I had never imagined that such things could be.

The star shines brighter.

* * *

_It opens now,_

_The skies of destiny. _

_

* * *

_

Many thanks to **Risa Sedai **for editing this and giving feedback on it. I probably wouldn't have posted this if not for you!


	2. Tears

**Author's Note:**This one is a little weird I think. I write when the mood strikes me and whatever comes to mind as I think. My inspiration for this was _Shinkai no Kodoku (Solitude of the Ocean Depths)_ from _Gundam SEED Destiny _(it is Stellar's image song! Awesomely cool if I do say so myself). I couldn't resist, I had to do it for Draco; it fit so perfectly (or at least, I thought it did).

I guess this is one of those "what could have been" sort of stories…since nothing even close to this happened in the books. I'm just a poor fangirl who wishes this sort of thing did happen…Anyway thank you for the reviews, you guys are awesome! I don't update very quickly, but if you guys like it I certainly will when the mood strikes me.

**Summary: **_-Draco/Hermione- _I left everything behind for her because she was all I could see.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything related to Harry Potter or _Gundam SEED Destiny. _If I did, I wouldn't be broke right now and the Harry Potter books would be drastically different.

* * *

_Teach me sadness…_

* * *

Sadness and sorrow…the only things I have ever known.

Anyone can wear a mask that gives the wrong impression of them; I did that ever since I was old enough to understand what my life would be like. It was to be a dark, cold thing without even my mother's slim arms to snake around me and hold me close. I was raised to never trust anyone save for myself; never to rely on anyone save for me.

I learned that if I closed my eyes, I wouldn't see the sadness that engulfed me. I realized that if I forgot what it felt like to touch my skin with that of another person I would never feel pain. That was how I survived my early years at home; pretending life was bright and pretending I did not desire the touch of another person. Every day I woke up and put on my usual mask of haughty contentedness. Every day I woke up ready to lie.

My days melted into each other without my notice; I cared not whether it was night or day. I tried my best to be the kind of person my parents wanted. My mother spared cool glances for me; I was her prized son, never to be disturbed. My father looked down his abnormally long nose at me, measuring me up to his unnaturally high standards. I did my best to reach them; I did my best to earn their praise. I was forever lonely.

My heart hurts now. I'm gone from them now, I can never go back. I tried so very hard to live up to what they wanted of me. I tried so hard to _be_ what they wanted. I tuned out the voices of everyone else because they didn't matter; their opinions were unnecessary and unwanted. The only people whose voices I paid heed to were those of my parents.

Throughout my school life, I paid heed to them. I had no real "friends" to listen to. I mostly had enemies and to them I listened only long enough to throw them a good retort. In that world, the one place where my parents could only speak through letters, there was only one voice that haunted me. Her voice came only occasionally, quietly and firmly from her place in the bright sunlight. It pierced the dark shroud that I threw around my persona and broke my mask in two, if only for a moment.

She asked the same thing every time: _When will you allow yourself to cry?_

My heart hurts when I think about her words. It seems to stop if I allow myself to visualize her. When my parents were not there, when they spoke only through letters like half-forgotten voices, it was her voice that drew me in, that held me for only a moment before she too was gone like smoke in the wind. Yet she always returned, sometimes in a day sometimes in a week, yet always she returned for a moment to ask me that question. At those times, she was all I could see.

* * *

_A little ship glitters silently in the distance, alone._

_Swept away by a torrent of grief, it disappears under the waves of my heart._

* * *

Although I did not actively seek her out somehow I always managed to pass by her; it was not as though I did not who owned that voice. She never once acknowledged me, she never one said a word to me when I passed by her in silence. Yet I have no doubt that she knew I was there, watching her closely. I always wondered how she knew of the sadness that filled me, the loneliness that no one could cure.

It came to pass that I longed for her voice. I began to realize I walked the ways that she took, that I was hoping to brush her hand accidentally during class. Such feelings were new to me; I should never have allowed myself to long for _anyone's _touch, much less hers. Slowly, I started to subtlety ignore the things my parents said---_wrote_---and began to long to hear what _she _had to say.

Slowly, I noticed that my gaze shifted to her during class; my walk faltered ever so slightly when I passed her in the halls yet I continued to move on. Still I could not say I was in the light where she stood and yet I was not completely in the darkness anymore. I was lost in twilight, longing for her voice and scared of leaving behind the comforting darkness. Yet I moved forward because I could not go back; beyond the darkness, she was all I could see.

She became an obsession to me. When I was near her, I felt comforted. Once, she flashed the most beautiful smile I'd ever seen towards me. Small and simple to anyone else, but to me it was a treasure that never came a second time. The few times when we were on our own, in the library perhaps, she would wish me a good day without any hint of anger or resentment. Slowly, ever so slowly, I finally realized the reason for my obsession.

I was in love.

It was then that my mask was cleaved in two for good; I couldn't go back to being the same person I was now that I had come to that realization. My parents became displeased with my actions from that point on and I fell from grace. They weren't the only voices in my life now. Yet still, that one question she continually asked me remained in my head…

I knew there could be a future for us, where we could love _each other _but that could never be unless I answered her question. Until I allowed myself to open my eyes and cry I could never be with her in her light-filled world. Now, as the tears stream down my cheeks, I realize she taught me what sadness _really _was, not what I had thought it to be during my life. This moment will never come twice…

Her arms slide around me this time and new pour out of my silver eyes. My barriers had broken down completely. She whispered to me gently, she rubbed my back soothingly. Slowly, I begin to cease my tears and my shaking begins to slow. I look into her eyes now and I give her a watery smile.

"_You are all I can see."_


	3. Fairy Story

**Author's Note: **The inspiration for this story (believe it or not) came from watching the Inuyasha movie that was on TV the other night (I didn't see the beginning and I THINK it was the fourth one). I only watched it 'cause I had nothing else to watch/do and so…this was born! Well, basically, the ideas for the demons in the story came from Inuyasha and their looks from the Obsidian Trilogy by Mercedes Lackey and James Mallory. Everything else I made up as I went along.

I'm happy with how it turned out actually, so I hope you guys liked it too. Thanks for the reviews too. They motivate me to write a bit faster : ) Well that's all I have to say for now so, until next time!

**Summary: **_-Draco/Hermione- _You're my angel-princess, my songstress. You showed me what the world of light is really like.

**Disclaimer: **If I owned anything, I would have tons of money to spend at this upcoming anime con. Seeing as I have very little spend I clearly own nothing.

* * *

"_You ought to be going to bed now."_

_The little girl was sitting between her mother and father on the soft suede couch. She turned her silver eyes to her father (who nodded in agreement with her mother's statement) and then her mother as she flicked back her wavy brown hair. "I'm not tired though."_

_"Tomorrow is your first day of school," her mother replied calmly. She turned a firm gaze on her daughter. "You need your rest."_

_The little girl twirled around in her seat and looked pleadingly at her father. He stood and picked his daughter up from the couch. "No sweetheart, it's bedtime for you."_

_"But Big Brother is still awake!" the girl whined. She twined her small arms around her father's neck anyway. She glared at her mother over her shoulder. "It's not fair! If he's still awake, why can't I be too?"_

_"He's two years your senior," her mother said, "So he gets more privileges than you do. Come now, to bed." The woman stood up and shuffled her husband and daughter out of the sitting room. _

_The girl's bed was already turned down and so her father plopped her down on it and tucked her in. "Goodnight sweetheart," he kissed her forehead and then grinned. "You're getting too old; you're too heavy for me to carry around anymore."_

_The little girl dropped her eyes. He laughed and patted her on the head before leaving the room, his black housecoat flowing out behind him. The girl's mother sat down on the bed. "Very well then," her mother said, "I'll tell you a bedtime story, but then you must go to sleep. Understood?"_

_"Yes, mother."_

_The woman nodded and then began._

* * *

Once upon a time, there existed a world far different from our own. The world was separated into three parts: the heavens in the sky, the underworld beneath the soil and the earth that existed in between as a bridge between them all---

* * *

_"That sounds like Earth," the little girl interrupted._

_Her mother frowned. "Have you been listening to your brother again?"_

_The girl nodded earnestly. "Big Brother was telling me about all this! He said that we live on Earth while we live an if I'm a good girl I'll go to heaven when I die and there'll be lots of angels and clouds and horses! But if I'm a bad girl he said I'll go to hell---"_

_Her mother raised one hand. "Quite now. You don't need to worry about any of that. Don't listen to what your brother says; he's just trying to scare you, that scamp. He's just like your father. Now, may I continue?"_

_"Yes, mother," the little girl nodded meekly._

* * *

Below in the underworld where the demons lived was a young prince who was more curious than most of his kind about the Earth. His kind were called demons by everyone else and while some were not feared others---like himself---were widely known and feared above all others. Yet this young man had a gentle nature that he carefully concealed behind a mask of cold indifference. 

One day, while he was alone wandering the labyrinthine ways of his dark world, he heard a voice from far above. This voice was so beautiful that he knew it could not possibly be of his dark world. So entranced by this voice, the young prince could not longer contain his true nature behind his cold mask of indifference and his curiosity got the better of him. So he stretched his wings---"

* * *

_"I thought only angels had wings," the little girl interrupted again._

_"It all depends on how you imagine things," her mother said gently. "This demon has wings too."_

* * *

The young prince flew up from his underground lair and abruptly found himself surrounded by a lush and green forest. Birds chirped and the voice was much clearer now. He folded his wings back and slowly walked towards the voice. Soon he came to a small clearing in which there was a small pond. He crouched behind some bushes and looked at the scene before him undetected. 

A young woman sat at the edge of the pond with a ginger cat—

* * *

_"Crookshanks?" the little girl asked in a surprised tone. "Mother, is that young---"_

_"You are interrupting again. Settle down so I may finish."_

* * *

---by her side. The young woman had hair the precise colour of mahogany and her eyes were a deep chestnut colour. She wore a simple white dress belted around her middle with a thin silver chain. Her feet were bare; the young prince could not remember seeing anyone as beautiful as she. 

He suddenly felt very self-conscious. Among his own people he was considered extremely handsome. His wings were both large and powerful, unblemished by the scars left by arrows. His body was perfectly toned and his hair was a perfect blond colour no one could hope to match. He wore a pair of black breeches made of silk and embroidered in gold. Several golden chains hung around his neck.

Yet among the people of earth, he would look intimidating and fearsome. His nails were longer than any normal person's and razor sharp. His teeth had points to them and his eyes were a silver-gray that seemed to pierce into someone's soul.

The young prince suddenly became aware that the ginger cat had sauntered over and found him kneeling among the bushes, his wings hanging limply down his back. The cat hissed and darted out from the bushes and back to the girl as though she could protect him from the creature in the bushes.

"Is someone there?" the young woman called from where she sat on the bank. She sounded curious and a bit frightened.

The prince could not bring himself to answer and so he stood and ran back the way he'd come and reentered his own world. He didn't know if she had seen him or not. He didn't dare think that she had in case she never came and sang by that pond again.

Yet everyday when he took his walks through his underground lair, the prince heard the young woman's voice. For a week he managed to keep his curiosity in check but finally he could no longer stay away. He wanted to hear her voice clearly again and he couldn't understand why. So as he flew towards the surface for a second time, he pondered this and came up with no answers.

* * *

_"Is he in love with the princess?" the little girl asked. She squeezed her favourite white teddy bear close. Her mother smiled._

_"Whoever said she was a princess?"_

_"She has to be!" the girl insisted. "She has to be."_

_"Why?"_

_"I…I don't know! She just has to be a princess," the little girl said stubbornly. _

_"Well maybe she is, maybe she isn't. As for him being in love with her…I suppose we shall soon find out."_

_The girl nodded._

* * *

Now every time he went to visit Earth, the prince made sure to be quiet and hide himself better than he had the first time. He sat high up in trees where his wings could trail down among the leaves and hidden among the darkness, completely unseen by anyone below. The only person who ever visited the pond was the young woman herself. She would sit by its edge every day and sing for hours on end, one of her delicate hands stroking the cat beside her. 

The young woman became an obsession to the prince and he wondered where she came from. He never dared follow her in case she noticed him. Instead he came up from his underground home long before her singing started. She normally arrived at midday, sometimes with a picnic basket, and left at sundown every day.

So it came to pass that the weeks came and went and the young prince (aside from the animals of the forest) was the only spectator to the girl's secret concerts. One day, however, the girl did not appear. This troubled him; she had never once failed to appear. Very disappointed, the young prince decided not to remain and stood to lift off into the sky and return home when a voice called up to him from right below.

"Why are you hiding up there?"

The prince was so stunned that he lost his balance completely and fell right out of the tree. His eyes were tightly shut and when he opened them he was staring right into the eyes of the young woman. She looked at him curiously. He probably looked completely ridiculous lying on his back with his wings underneath him and his golden chains all askew. He noticed that on one arm she carried a picnic basket larger than the one she usually used. Suddenly, she started laughing.

"What is so funny?" he demanded with as much indignation as he could muster. The young woman continued laughing so hard that she too fell down onto the forest floor.

"Nothing," she replied once she had regained some of her composure. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you fall out of the tree…"

"How did you even know I was there?" Frightened beyond imagining that she might run off at any second he tried to assume his usual mask of indifference and realized he was failing miserably in that task. She was grinning and she didn't seem frightened at all.

"A little birdie told me," she said airily. She stood up and brushed off her dress. The young prince got up too and handed her the basket she had dropped. She smiled shyly. "Thank you. Why don't you…come and eat with me?"

The prince was very surprised that she would so easily invite him to share a meal with her and he accepted with as much formal and polite language as he could muster. She smiled again, a faint line of pink appearing over the bridge of her nose and led him to the bank.

"I…don't know what you like to eat," the young woman began, "So I…brought a bit of everything. Please, take what you like." She laid out each dish on a checked blanket she had brought with her and the prince examined each one curiously. There were fruits (which were a rare treat in his homeland), homemade buns, sliced meat which he correctly identified to be chicken, and butter tarts.

"It tastes very good," he said politely (and truthfully) after taking a few bits of her homemade buns and devouring the chicken. "You are quite the cook."

This made the young woman blush once more. "You are very kind. Um…you never answered my question."

The prince glanced at her nervously. "Which question?"

"The one about why you were hiding in the tree…" She paused. "I don't mean to pry but…you've been here a few times lately, haven't you? The birds told me you see."

This only served to make the prince more self conscious than ever but he decided he ought to reply to this lovely young lady who had fed him and been very kind to him. She hadn't run and she hadn't told him to leave. "I…I was just listening to you sing," he said honestly.

"But why were you hiding?" she asked again. Apparently she felt that this was not a satisfactory answer to her question. The prince felt his cheeks grow hot and he was forced to look away from her.

"I…"

"Were you…afraid I'd be frightened of you? That I'd run away or something?" she asked earnestly. Her eyes were wide with horror at the thought.

"Something like that…"

The sun was setting now, the prince noticed, and the young lady apologetically began to pack up the lunch. "Will you come back tomorrow?" she asked him suddenly.

The prince hadn't considered the possibility of the young woman wanting him to return. Just because she was nice today didn't mean she would want him to return (although he didn't think he _could _keep himself away even if she requested he do so). "I would be honored."

"Please return," she said in almost begging sort of tone. "It's…lonely to sing with no one to listen."

The prince nodded solemnly and turned to lift off into the sky.

For several weeks, the two were able to meet every few days and it was at these times that the prince felt most at ease. His initial surprise at the young woman's unquestioning acceptance of him had not yet worn off and he suspected that it never would. Even among his own people, he was not his usual self as he was always longing to return to the World Above.

It was his mother, a cruel and cold woman, who finally confronted him about his recent change in personality. "You've been visiting Earth more and more often of late," she said coldly. "Why is that, my son?"

Now among most demons, humans were not seen as anything very special or worthy of notice. Humans were weak and powerless compared to themselves and to angelic beings in heaven. In fact, among his own demonic people, the prince was the only one who didn't think that way, a fact that had not gone unnoticed by his queen mother. The prince realized that it would be a very bad thing for him to reveal the young woman to his mother and so he sought to keep her secret.

"I am merely curious about it, dearest mother," the prince said in an indifferent voice. "I have heard interesting tales about it and sought to verify them."

"Is that so…" The prince nodded stiffly. His mother walked forward and placed her hand against his brow without warning. Her hand had an iron grip and the prince was unable to escape her magic. Her expression never changed but her voice was like ice when she spoke again. "You should know better than to lie to me, my son."

The queen ordered her son to be locked away in the deepest cell. Fraternizing with a human woman was a forbidden act among their people and crimes were always met with punishment. The prince cared not what happened to him; he feared about what would happen to that lovely and innocent young lady who had been so kind to him. He sat sullenly in his cell feeling terribly guilty that he had to miss all their planned meetings now. He missed hearing her voice.

* * *

_"Is the prince going to be all right?" the little girl asked quickly. _

_"We'll see, won't we?" her mother replied with a kind smile._

_"I'm glad you're not like his mother, mother," the girl said._

_Her mother only smiled and continued her story._

* * *

Finally, the queen and her councilors came to a decision. The prince would be killed since that was the usual punishment for wrongdoers. And his was a particularly heinous crime. The first stage of his process consisted of his beautiful wings being brutally torn from his back and the wounds clumsily bandaged. The actual execution was to take place the following morning. 

The prince sat in his cell feeling lonelier and more upset than he had ever felt before. He wished that he could hear her sing just one more time before he died, to tell her that he wouldn't be returning again. There was so much he wanted to say to her still…

Suddenly the prince felt something brush up against his leg and he looked down to examine the source of the sensation. The young woman's ginger cat was there looking at him suspiciously through golden eyes. Irritably the cat walked to a dark corner of his cell and flicked his tail impatiently before vanishing into the darkness. At first the prince wondered how the cat had got in here or if it had simply been a figment of his imagination. But it was not and when he examined the spot where the ginger cat had vanished he realized it was a hole in the wall, a passage out of the cell, unknown to anyone else.

A feeling the prince could only name as hope suddenly flared in his chest and he boldly stepped into the narrow passage. Cold stone steps led upwards; the stairs went so high that the end was lost in darkness. Nevertheless the prince was not daunted by such a task and began his climb with renewed vigor. The ginger cat was always visible a few steps above him, urging him onward.

The way was long but the prince refused to falter; he continued up and up into the darkness that seemed eternal. Once or twice he thought he heard the voice of that young woman and it filled him with strength. He vaguely wondered how long the journey had been since he started. It didn't matter; he was almost free.

Abruptly, the prince stepped out into the bright sunlight and stumbled forward slightly. He was not used to walking without the added weight of his wings yet and expected to hit the ground. A pair of hands, surprisingly strong yet delicate, caught his shoulders and when he looked up he was looking into the eyes of his lovely young lady.

"I'm so glad you're safe!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him. "I was so worried about you! So I sent my cat to find you. I hope that wasn't too presumptuous of me…"

"I would have died if not for you," he said honestly. The young woman suddenly noticed that he was without wings and gasped.

"I…I didn't know! I would have sent him sooner if I had. But…you're here now. You're not…going to leave again, are you?"

"No, I'm not going anywhere princess."

"I'm…not a princess."

"You are to me," the prince insisted, "My angel-princess."

"I'm not an angel either," the young lady pointed out.

"You are to me," he said stubbornly. "And besides, even if I'm an exiled prince if I say you're a princess then you are."

The young woman giggled. "Very well then. If you insist."

"I do insist," he said softly. He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the lips. "I love you…"

"I love you too…" the princess whispered.

* * *

_"And naturally," finished up the woman, "They lived happily ever after."_

_"So she was a princess!"_

_"If you think she was," the woman agreed. "That's the beauty of storytelling; the characters can be whatever you desire. Now, it is time for you to sleep."_

_"Yes, mother," the little girl said with a wide yawn. _

_The girl's mother kissed her forehead and shut the door lightly as she left the room. She claimed back her seat on the couch beside her husband who put down his crossword puzzle when she returned._

_"Finally got her to sleep have you?" he asked. His wife nodded. "Good then. What took you so long anyway?"_

_"I was telling her a bedtime story."_

_"Don't children grow out of those by her age?"_

_"I still like them," she said crossly, "You'd never think to tell me one though!"_

_Her husband smirked and leaned toward her. "Oh really? Once upon a time there was a pretty and naïve Gryffindor girl who suddenly found herself in love with the most handsome and cunning Slytherin boy there was---in fact, he was the most handsome and cunning boy in general, not just in Slytherin House. They lived happily ever after," Her husband kissed her lips softly. "The end. Was that good enough, princess?"_

_She smiled and kissed him back. "Yes, it was."_


	4. Names

**Author's Note: **I have returned with another installment to _Whispers. _I just went to an anime con on the weekend and while not only did I return broke but I came back with some souvenirs that happened to include the _Gensomaden Saiyuki _box set of DVD's. And I happen to like episodes 40 and 41 the best. This story is based off of Goku's pestering of Konzen to give him a name.

**Summary: **_-Draco/Hermione- _To fear a person is to fear the name and vice-versa.

**Disclaimer: **Seeing as I just spent my hard earned money at an anime con, I clearly have no rights to Harry Potter (or Saiyuki) because if I did, I wouldn't be complaining about my lack of money.

* * *

_Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself. _

Those words became something like a mantra to me. I chose to use names so that I would not fear the thing that owned the name. I was not a coward who chose to give some sort of fearful reverence to a fool who thought himself above others. I would not bow down to a man who was nothing more than a coward himself. I chose to use that name so that I could be strong. I didn't want to be a coward.

One day, as I sat by the lake catching up on my reading, I was joined by the one person who could make my blood boil with so much as a glance. He took a seat beside me and I studiously ignored him. I didn't know why he was here and I didn't care; I wanted to read. Yet his very presence irritated me. Why did he have to interrupt my lovely afternoon by the lake?

"Go away," I said coldly without looking at him.

"I have as much right to be here as you," he said with a shrug. Oh, how he reveled in my discomfort! He glanced sideways at me. "Why are you being so cold to me anyway? I thought we were…friends."

Friends.

That is not the word I would have chosen to describe us. Yet it was an uncomfortable compromise of what we were becoming now and what we had been. We were not quite enemies anymore (at least, not in private) but we were not really chummy with each other either. We did not go for one another's throats but we didn't interfere with anyone else who did. 'Friends' was an uncomfortable compromise between the things we were and had been because we didn't know quite what we were now.

"You thought wrongly then didn't you?" I replied icily. "Is there something you want?"

"Not really…I just thought I'd like to sit here by the lake."

I didn't respond right away. "Why'd you come without your little Death Eater friends?" I asked spitefully. I knew his face had flushed without even looking. "You're never without them."

"I didn't want them to blight this lovely scenery," he said coolly.

"Oh, so they're a blight on this world now are they? And what does that make you? Are you a blight as well? And what of your so-called Dark Lord Voldemort? Is he a blight too?"

I was deliberately goading him and I knew it was not a very smart move. He stiffened with every sentence and for a moment I thought he was going to yell at me if not hex me straight into next week. Still, I couldn't stop my bitterness from poking forth into my words which were now being thrown at him since he was conveniently sitting here too.

"There's no reason to get so angry," he said. He was doing an admirable job at keeping his temper but I wondered for how long that would last. He stretched out on the grass and folded his arms across his chest. "Just because I think my 'little Death Eater friends' as you put it," he said slowly, "Would mar this lovely scenery does not mean it would be ruined with the Dark Lord here."

"He's just like them," I spat, "Except worse."

Draco looked over at me. His long and pale face was completely expressionless although his voice was kept carefully neutral. "It is a matter of perspective. I think the Dark Lord could do wonders for this world while you think he is a stain on it."

I closed my book with a snap. He pretended not to notice that and that made me even angrier. My eyes blazed at him yet his eyes were amused. "This conversation is over. I don't care if you think Voldemort would make this scenery nicer; you are just as misguided as he is." I stood to leave.

"Why do you use his name?"

That question caught me off guard and I paused mid-step. I didn't glance at him when I replied. "I use his name because I'm not afraid of him. He holds no power over _me."_

Draco sat up and peered at me curiously. "Are you so sure of that?"

I turned slowly and glared at him. I hated myself for thinking he looked quite handsome with the way the sun hit him. "I am one hundred percent _certain _of that."

"For someone as smart as you, you're actually quite stupid." Draco stood up and held up a hand to forestall my protests. "Think about it Hermione. This isn't a matter of fearing him or revering him or anything like it. You use his name because you want to feel in control; you _are _afraid of him and that fear scares you. To have control over the fear he inspires in you, you use his name. By using his name in defiance to gain control over your fear he himself holds power over you without doing anything at all."

"Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself," I said automatically.

"Stop lying to yourself." Draco said impatiently. "You fear his name. You fear the Dark Lord and honestly, you're _right _to fear him. _I _fear him. _Everyone _fears him. There is nothing wrong with fear even if it is of a name."

"I am not afraid of a coward," I said but my voice trembled slightly. Draco advanced on me and I took an automatic step backwards.

"Do you know why we have names?" he asked. His voice was low and soft, giving the illusion of safety. I bit my lip and hugged my book to my chest as though it could protect me from what he was saying.

"We have names because…they are ways of telling each other apart. They allow us to respond to someone specific." I wasn't sure where he was going with this.

"Those _are_ some reasons we have names but they are not _the _reason we are given names. Surely you know why we are given names at birth. It's not a very difficult thing to answer. Do tell me why." His eyes were sharp and I had to force myself to stand my ground. When I remained silent he sighed and answered his own question. "We are given names because someone loved us. Someone in the world cared for us enough to give us a name."

I said nothing in response to this so he continued.

"What we _do _with our names is up to us. We can make our name into one to be feared; one that parents invoke to frighten their children or one that demands reverence for fear of punishment. We can make our name into a beloved one where no one fears to speak to us or speak of us."

"What are you trying to say?" I demanded. "Are you trying to tell me that I fear a name and a person?"

"The two are interlinked," he said coolly, "To fear a person is to fear the name and vice-versa. People are not things," he added slyly. "Names give people power; how we use the power of our name is up to us."

"So what you're saying is that Voldemort was loved enough by someone that they gave him his name. Then, as he grew, he used the power of his name to fashion it into something everyone would fear and revere at the same time?" This was all so confusing because now everything was interlaced with each other. I knew that he had hated his name; is that why he changed it into what it is now? By changing his name into something fearful he was able to come as far as he had in his attempts to purify the Wizarding world and gain superiority over Muggles.

Everything was interlaced.

"That is exactly what I am saying. You catch on pretty quickly," he said admirably. He advanced on me again until we stood nose to nose. His breath was warm and his voice was soft. "It's perfectly fine to fear him and his name. I fear him too."

And then he leaned forward to kiss me softly.


	5. Dancing

**Author's Note:** I know it's a bit early, but here's a Halloween treat! It's basically based off my own experiences of the Halloween dance I just got home from. I danced with two guys I like so…yes, I'm a pathetic romantic. But I'm sure you could all tell XD

**Summary: **She was too shy, she wouldn't do it. But in the end, she gave in.

**Disclaimer: **The money I have right now will be going towards _Fire Emblem: Radiant Dawn _when it comes out so I'm as broke as usual. Therefore, I own nothing. Except some really sore feet.

* * *

Her hair was knotted from all the dancing and her forehead glistened with sweat. Hermione was tired yet she wanted to keep dancing; she was thirsty yet she didn't want to miss anything to go and get a drink. She kept to a small group of friends and made sure to draw her hat low over her face whenever she caught sight of _him _out of the corner of her eyes. She made sure to adjust her poorly-made last-minute pirate costume every few minutes and wrung her hands nervously.

She wasn't much of a dancer but when she was surrounded by her friends, it didn't seem to matter in the least. None of them were exceptional but they managed to have fun shaking their hips and waving their arms around dangerously. They stepped on each other's feet and tripped; Hermione herself fell right down on her butt at some point and even laughed at the incident.

The whole point of this dance was to have fun and she did. Yet somehow, she always became distracted. She would glance over her shoulder to look at _him _or place herself right beside her other crush and dance beside him as best she could. It was all Hermione could do to keep cool and not make too much of a fool of herself.

Of course, most people _did _make fools of themselves, but it didn't matter much to them. They weren't trying to impress anyone. Hermione _was _trying to though and she did her very best. Whether or not they noticed she had no idea but in the end she decided that it was the effort that counted more than the result. Still, it stuck in the back of her mind throughout the night---_did they notice?_

"Come with me, Hermione!" her friend tugged on her arm and pulled her against her will to a young blonde boy who tried just as fiercely to escape his own friends pulling him. "Dance with Draco, Hermione! He won't bite you!"

Dressed in perfectly fitted black dress robes with the green and silver of Slytherin bordering his collar and wrists, Draco was quite the gentleman. Hermione---in her attempted pirate costume—felt most out-of-place when Draco put his arm around her and drew her close to dance. He didn't say anything to her and she had the distinct impression her was throwing angry glares at his friends but he seemed more gentle than she would ever have thought he could be. Her own friends followed her a but and the Creevy brothers got several pictures that they all proceeded to "awww!" over.

She couldn't stop smiling and she couldn't stop blushing.

She wasn't sure if she should hate her friend for eternity or love her for eternity.

* * *

Short and sweet, isn't it? The unnamed crush can be anyone you like them to be; preferably not Ron since I don't like him much but it's whatever floats your boat I suppose.

Happy Halloween!


	6. Voice

**Author's Note: **Look at this everyone! It's a double update! This is because when I was supposed to be writing a ballad in one of my English courses, I wrote two little Dramione one-shots instead! Yay for not doing my work!

**Summary: **The voice that penetrated his thoughts was something no one else knew about.

**Disclaimer: **If I owned Harry Potter do you honestly think I would be worrying about how to pay for my post-secondary education?

* * *

Unable to tune out her voice, I listened to it with something akin to irritation. I shared a good number of my classes with her so it was quite difficult to not hear her. After all, she did answer just about every question the professors threw at their class; no one else had a chance with her around.

It became so normal though! It came to the point where it felt odd not to hear her voice. You might claim that I enjoyed hearing her voice and you wouldn't be wrong; I developed an unhealthy attachment to it. Oh, if my parents knew I'm sure my mother would faint and my father would slap my knuckles with his snake-like cane. They could never understand this attachment to the voice that had once so irritated me! Hers was a voice that would not leave me alone, one that followed me everywhere I went (or so it seemed to me).

But no one else knew of this attachment; I made certain of that. What would such an attachment do to my reputation? What would people say if they knew that I, a Malfoy, liked the sound of a Mudblood's voice? It was wrong and clearly I had done nothing to terminate the attachment. I couldn't bear to face the ridicule of my classmates. So I kept it secret; my own dirty little secret if you will.

So everyday I sat in class, watching her fawn over Weasley with indecent glee and I listened ever so closely to the flow of her voice and I claimed it as mine. Even though no one else knew, she was mine and her voice was mine; I would allow nothing to take her from me, not now. I could not live without her voice to break the silent monotone of my own life.

Her voice was what shattered the illusionary life I had been living; how could I permit her to leave my world then? If she did I would only fall back into that same dark place without anyone to drag me out again. No, I needed her and her voice.

Therefore, she was mine.


	7. Bruise

**Author's Note: **Here's the other half of the double update. I'll warn you now though: this piece implies some sexual themes. So if you don't wanna read it, don't; but I'm sure most of you can handle it.

**Summary: **A simple conversation among tangled bed-sheets.

**Disclaimer: **Again, I own nothing.

* * *

"Who gave you that bruise on your arm?"

"Why do you care?"

"I want to hurt the bastard who did it."

"Why?"

"Because _I'm _the one who gives you bruises. No one else is allowed."

"Not where anyone can see them."

"Exactly. Only I can mar your skin and I wouldn't dream of doing so where it's noticeable."

"It's _always _noticeable to me. I'm the one who walks around with sore legs everyday."

"I'm just as tired as you are after these meetings."

"I don't believe it."

"So who gave you the bruise?"

"My door."

"Your door?"

"Yes, my door. I walked into it this morning."

"You're not lying are you?"

"No. Why would I? It's hard enough to keep a true thought—much less a lie—in my head when you're doing…that!"

"Good to know."

"Yes. Now, if you're quite finished interrogating me I have a better use for our mouths."

"Right. I like the way you think."


	8. Above and Below

**Author's Note: **I know I'm a horrible person for taking so long to update. But you might be happy to hear that I have two more one-shots written (by hand, but they won't take long to type). I was gonna do a triple update but then I thought I'll put the other two up in maybe a week since they go together; this one is more of a stand-alone.

On another note, I swear this happened to me. Well, it was far more awkward and a lot funnier, but I'll ramble about that at the end.

**Summary: **Sometimes she was above while he was below and then there were other times when he was above and she was below.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything at all.

* * *

Hermione Granger had been working in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement---sub-division Improper Use of Magic Office---for several years now. Her days were long and always full of work to do. It was a rare occasion indeed for Hermione to have a day devoid of reports to write, reports to examine, and angry clients to deal with (who always came with complaints of unfair rulings or sentences that were too light on a perpetrator).

None of this particularly bothered Hermione in the least; she was a good worker who was extremely thorough in her reports and firm in her standings against all those angry clients. She felt that her day was wholesome and invigorating; she could not imagine herself in a career that kept her bored out of her wits with not the slightest bit of entertainment.

During the busy time of a typical workday for Hermione there was only one hour of reprieve from her reports and clients: lunch. Hermione, being the smart woman that she was, made sure to pack a healthy, balanced meal. She always spent her lunch hour in the Ministry's communal cafeteria instead of in her dingy office because she very much enjoyed the company of her coworkers.

Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil both worked in the Department of Magical Transportation. Lavender spent her time regulating the Floo Network while Parvati spent her days testing and failing (and occasionally passing) students learning to Apparate. The two girls naturally had dozens of tales to tell over lunch---one apparently saw as much stupidity in that department as Hermione often saw in her own.

Hermione's third companion, unusual though it may seem, was none other than Draco Malfoy. He worked in the Department of Magical Games and Sports working with the various sports officials and Quidditch busybodies that were constantly coming and going. While Draco was still a haughty, spoiled brat yet the war had matured him a great deal nonetheless. Hermione had felt rather sorry for him when she realized he was still shunned by many people (for his admittedly deplorable actions) and had decided to extend a hand in friendship out to him.

Initially, this hand was scorned and insulted; the result was exactly how he had acted in their schooldays and it was exactly what Hermione had expected his first reaction would be. She refused to give up though and everyday made a point of eating lunch with him. Lavender and Parvati could not help but notice this new and surprising development and, being the nosey ladies they were, decided to accompany Hermione in this endeavor to see everything first-hand.

It was an odd friendship that had formed between them. Often, Hermione and Draco reduced to insulting each other over stupid conversations---they nearly came to blows on one memorable occasion. The only thing (ironically enough) that kept the four of them together was a simple card game.

They played Prez on a daily basis. It was quite the novelty among them, seeing as Hermione had had to bring in a deck of Muggle cards and painstakingly teach them the rules of the Muggle card game. Lavender and Parvati were nothing special---they were mediocre players that rarely won. But Draco had become quite good in a very short time (seeing as he had initially rejected the idea of playing a Muggle card game) and seemed to have an enormous amount of luck. He and Hermione competed for first and second place during every round with a passion that seemed most unusual.

"Looks like your winning streak is over, Granger," Draco smirked after another consecutive win.

"I'll beat you next time, Malfoy," Hermione assured him pleasantly. She passed the deck to Lavender to shuffle and deal out.

"I never thought Hermione would lose," Parvati observed, "She won so many games lately."

"She had to lose sometime," Lavender shrugged.

"She can't always be on top," Draco said seriously, "Sometimes she has to be on the bottom. She was above me for too long---it was certainly time that she learned her place is on the bottom!" The girls, to Draco's confusion, could not stop laughing and Hermione had turned a dark shade of crimson. "What's so funny?!"

* * *

I'm not kidding; that really happened to me. We were playing cards during class and our one friend said almost exactly what Draco said (I made Draco say it in a more demeaning way I guess). My friend couldn't look at anyone; when the bell rang she grabbed my arm and dragged me out of class. We were laughing so loudly that I think the whole school heard us and wondered what was wrong with us.

It was funny though; I don't think he even realized how awkward it sounded (well he might have after we had finished laughing).


	9. Truth I

**Author's Note: **Finally, I'm getting around to that double update I promised a few weeks back. Well, anyway, this is my way of simply not doing my research for my French project. Enjoy all.

**Summary: **Standing at a crossroads saying nothing they had a misunderstanding.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing at all...except a new computer with an OS I don't like very much.

* * *

She didn't have high hopes for them.

She knew him relatively well and it hadn't taken her long to develop strong feelings for him. Hermione never allowed herself to have high hopes for though. She wasn't naive enough to think that he could want her when he could have any other young witch with more assets than herself. Hermione wasn't good enough to be his lover; she could only be a friend.

So now, she couldn't understand why she felt so upset. It wasn't like Pavarti had told her something she wasn't already aware of. She already knew that he would only consider a Pureblood woman with a considerable dowry; Hermione knew that well. Parvati had thought that she was protecting Hermione from shame and embarressment with the revelation; as if Hermione would be stupid enough to go up to him and say "By the way Draco, you realize that I'm in love with you, right?" Hermione didn't need to be protected from rejection because she would never put herself in a position where rejection was the inevitable outcome. And with Draco, that's exactly what it would be: inevitable.

That was all the more reason to not get her hopes up. They were friends and she nursed no fantasies; that's all they would ever be. She knew that from the very beginning. There was no reason for her to feel like this: miserable, inadequete, unwanted, unneeded, poor, replacable, rejected.

No, she would never tell him the truth.


	10. Truth II

**Author's Note: **Finally, I'm getting around to that double update I promised a few weeks back. Well, anyway, this is my way of simply not doing my research for my French project. Enjoy all.

**Summary: **Standing at a crossroads saying nothing they had a misunderstanding.

**Disclaimer: **If I owned anything...I wouldn't be here right now.

* * *

He felt so heartsick.

He could not look at her without wondering about what she was thinking. With one look, she could shatter his cool façade. With one look, she could melt his heart. Draco didn't think that she knew about that little detail but her ignorance did not make it any less true. He avoided looking at her straight in the eyes; what would happen if one look from her made him do something stupid? Draco's pride couldn't handle that.

He couldn't quite come to terms with his feelings. What was so special about her anyway? She had no dowry, no assets, no lineage---her parents were_ dentists _for Merlin's sake! Hermione had nothing to recommend her, no features that set her apart from the crowd. Yet that innocent simplicity only made ger more extrodinary to Draco.

Draco knew perfectly well that she could never see him as anything other than a friend. Nothing passed between them that could evovle into something more. Draco refused to delude himself into thinking that she pined after him; he was not so cocky as that. And yet, it didn't stop him frim pining after her; it was a horrible predicament that could only end in tragedy if he stolled up to her and said "Just so you're clear Hermione, I've been pining after you for years now and I think I'm totally in love with you. Care to have some tea?"

No, Draco could never tell her the truth.


End file.
